Elves are Jews and Nords are Nazis
by MOFOSTAN
Summary: When two unlikely blonds delve into the lives of a thieving Wood Elf and insufferable Nord, the four set out on two separate journeys, clearly heartbroken from past loves before they meet. Magic, fighting, honor, and all the gritty aspects of the land of Skyrim present itself valiantly before you, but in actuality, this is a love story. A love story with the foundation of hate.
1. The Dawn of Adventure

Chapter 1: The Dawn of Adventure

_Careful. _He thought to himself as he aimed, breathing in and out before preparing to loose his bowstring. He held eyes on his enemy who lay still, lethargic on his throne that had been manufactured partly from the oak trees from the east spring and partly from the bones of Orcs. He could feel the cosmos align within him, as he always did whenever a shot was in clear and perfect range. If he could not kill his target, all of his hard work and preparation was for naught and his settlement wouldn't be received. He _had_ to finish this one off properly. His partner and he were in far range from the vicinity, patiently crouching since the night before behind a bush on the tip of a sturdy cliff west from his target. He had been unwearyingly steady as his target that had moved to and fro, never ceasing still and entering in the enclosed rooms time and time again. Finally, everything was perfect and the target was finally dozed off on his throne.

"I had not noticed his throne festooned with the bones of the Orcs." Lydia whispered to her master, the arrowed thief, as she gripped his arm in fury.

"It matters not his killings, but ours." Kyle, the arrowed thief, smirked. "Be still, dear. I know how you feel about the Orcs, but mend your anger for now. Be professional."

"Between the eyes, my Thane." Lydia gripped Kyle's arm firmly. "Let his last thoughts be void."

"Very well." And he let loose his bowstring, shooting the arrow towards his target. The iron arrow pierced between his eyes and Kyle could see blood spurt from the opened wound. "Prepare to kill, Lydia."

"As you wish, my Thane."

Lydia runs from the cliff and slides down, gliding through branches and rocks which protrudes from the steep of the cliff, her cloak flapping in the dawn wind like coiled and coarsed feathers of a crow. The men from the vicinity have already spotted Kyle and Lydia and are rampaging towards them. Kyle looses iron arrows towards the men and women, killing and injuring them. Confident after killing all of the other arrowed men, he puts his bow around his chest and awakens the magic within him, taken from the blood of his ancestors.

He leaps and glides through the branches and rocks protruding from the steep of the cliff, much like Lydia had done before. The mage within him invokes gouts of fire projecting from the palm of his hands through the art of Destruction magika.

The fire blazes behind him, illuminating his crimson hair, glaring off the image of an elf engulfed in the flares of the inferno as he charges at the men towards his way. Their swords swing towards Kyle's face but Kyle's nimble footing gives him way to bend back as he begins to slide on his knees, commanding the fires to graze the skins of the men, causing them to howl in anguish. Kyle then rolls forward like an armadillo and regains his balance on his feet, crouching before sprinting towards the men, summoning a fireball towards the men he had just severely burned. His absolute favorite form to fight in close range is to scorch his victims alive, and that is what he did as the men howled their last breathes under the hell fires.

Kyle peered over to where Lydia was sword fighting, and she seemed to be winning. He smirked to himself. It was almost unfair how her opponent _tried_ to keep up with her so desperately, and evidently failing with each strike of his sword. She moved like no other and fought like no other. He loved her, despite her clumsy brutality when it came to hiding behind close range victims when he wanted to use his archery to quietly sneak past a fleet or an army of bandits. She always blew their cover. Still, they fought gallantly and he knew her dedication to him was unwavering as she always fought to protect him, and him her. Through his quest in Whiterun and his realization of being some upmarket hero apparently (in which he gladly scoffed at the notion of him being one), he had met her. The King had deemed him a worthy Thane and had entrusted his most brave warrior to him, as a service for the rest of his days questing about. He could rid of her at any given moment, but he kept her out of sneaky use for one mission. He had wanted to leave her stranded, one way to get rid of her without upsetting the king. Though in that particular mission, his eyes fell suit to her. She had exhibited charming qualities he could not ignore and had instead traveled with her for many months, never straying from his thief life, and despite her being dead set against it, she followed him without question. She stole for him, she fought for him, and it seemed to him that she _lived_ solely for him. How could he not fall for her? They had consummated their love at one point, recently in the last waning of the moon. In the sunlight's glow the next morning he whispered to her that he'd save enough _honest_ money to purchase a real home for them and an Amulet of Mara for her to wear. He had never once guessed that his past would come riling about and his former association with the Brotherhood would peek about. They had asked him to ensure one last target's kill and bring them back the blood of the victim. They held his reputation with Whiterun's high king at their hands and threatened to blackmail him with it to pursue him their way.

Lydia had agreed to fight with him and assist him on his dark request to help guarantee his safety, but as it would have it, he wanted to guarantee hers as well and at first refused to allow her to attend. She quickly reminded him of their past adventures in Vampire caves and dark skeleton castles in peeks of high Snow Mountains. She quickly reminded him of moments only her assistance and knowledge of poison helped saved his life. She wouldn't take no for an answer, and watching her fight expertly, killing her quarry with much skill and efficiency, had assured him that brining her along brought no real harm to her.

"Be it wind or snow, your sword spares no one, does it?" Kyle smiled.

"And your flames hath no mercy, my Thane." She smiled at him, baring her teeth as he took her by the waist and closed in on her lips. She reciprocated the kiss and delved in for more passion. Separating, she smiled up at him as he did down at her, the winds of dawn breathing through them, fluttering her hair about and intensifying her beauty in his eyes. Her hands cupped his jawline, fingers entangling in his fiery hair.

"We should collect blood from your kill before it rusts, my Thane." She cooed at him.

He glanced towards the kill sprawled on the throne of oak and Orc bones and was reminded of Lydia's past with the Orcs. Frowning a bit he nodded slightly. "Very well."

"Don't fret, my heart. I know why your eyes linger so. The dawn of the Orcs in me hath long past and now my sun shall set with you in my life." She smiled, kissing the edge of his jawline.

"Yes, I know. Just as my sun shall set with you." He breathed in her scent before releasing his grip on her waist and turned at his heel towards the kill sprawled on the throne of oak and Orc bones. "Still, my settlement was promised to be high and I do so expect to well spend my…"

"UGH!" He heard a struggled choke erupt from behind him and he turned to see a sword piercing his love from the arms of the half-slayed man behind her feet, struggling to his last breath to pierce the sword right through her upper abdomen.

"LYDIA!" He roared as he took her falling form into his arms unsheathing the blade from her as the last of the killer's breath slipped away into the underworld. "Oh, Divines. This cannot be." Kyle croaked out from his throat, locking up as tears swelled within him. He drew his hands in front of him and notices it soaked in her blood. "Oh, Aetherius, do not take her with you, leave her with me!" He pleaded to the Eight Divines. Her hands trembled as she glanced to her chest and her body began to convulse almost violently. Kyle held her face and brought her eyes to him, tears spilling onto her cheeks. He called to the blood of his ancestors to awaken his magic and he invokes on a closed wounds spell from restoration magic. Unfortunately, he is far too late.

Lydia parted her lips to speak, but was silenced with the light that carried her soul away to the gods in heaven. "No…" He whimpered as her last breath fleeted away.

She was gone, and he was alone.

Time passed and the dawn wind transcended to the heat of late afternoon. As the blue skies dwindled and the purples and pinks surfaced, bleeding through clouds, Kyle finally let go of his late beloved. His eyes were dry and irritated from the tears and his stomach empty and sickened with grief. He gently laid her head on the ground and walked towards the kill. He took a vile from his pouch and collected the blood. He combed the beds and drawers for gold and potions and he pickpocketed the dead men from their arrows, daggers, and valuable items he could trade at town markets. He found several hundred coins and a multitude of iron arrows, as well as even Ancient Nordic arrows. He left what he did not need and collected what he found valuable. He rummaged the stables, open blacksmith edifices, and gardens for a wagon, and he found one in a storage hall near the tower. The fort was small and it did not take him long to haul the wagon to his beloved's corpse. He lifted her limp body and grimaced as he gently rested her still ridden with beauty corpse on the wagon and began to lug the wagon to the Whiterun, her homeland.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"As we commend your soul to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved Aetherius and may he cherish you, Lydia. What a brave and noble warrior she was, and what a kind and benevolent daughter and lover she was. Let your memory…"

Kyle tuned out the priestess from her mind as he stared at the burial of her body. A cloak reigned her figure and wrapped around it, tied by stained, breaking rope. Her body was leveled down to the earth's soil and the priests shoveled the dark soil over her body.

"In my heart always. The dawn of the Orcs in you hath long past and now your sun hath set with me in your life and with you in my heart always." Whispered Kyle to himself as he turned to leave, not waiting for the funeral to finish. He sold the wagon to a street marketer and sold his findings of the Fort to a dealer in the shop of Whiterun before he attended the funeral.

"Psst. Ye look like you've had it rough." A voice came from the alleyways of Whiterun. It was already night and it had taken a whole day to carry Lydia to Whiterun, and a whole week to arrange for her funeral and call upon her associates. After it all, he had enough for a horse and some extra hundred gold coins to use.

"Piss off, bootless beggar." Kyle growled to the voice, not taking a single look at the fellow.

A hand gripped Kyle's arm and spun him around. "Now, ah think we could 'ave a good deal to follow on, if ye weren't so droning 'bout it."

"Another moment's worth of persistence will cost you an arm, so I suggest you _**piss off.**_" Kyle snarled darkly.

The boy, only a few years younger than Kyle, let go of Kyle's arms and feigned fear. "Oh dear, and ye think ah care 'bout yer temper tantrums. Now, ah procure certain… coveted items, let's say. Ah am willin' to trade ye for that fine lookin' bow. Is mahogany, yes? Could get me a good deal."

"You think I am artless, boy? You think I'm going to fall for that?"

"Now, ah'm wagerin' that funeral was of ye dear lass, no?"

Kyle takes the boy by the collar and shoves him to the alley. "Do you have a death wish or goat dung for brains, boy?" Kyle sneers at the boy's face. "I will not carry remorse to drain a boy's live hood at the peak of youth."

"Ye just a few years older than me, lad. Now, me gots a well off supply of Skooma to market and me thinks ye wants a bit of a 'pick me up' after…" The boy signals to the funeral still taking place.

"Skooma? What are _you_ doing with Skooma?" Kyle loosens his grip on the boy. Honestly, Kyle was a dirty thief for the most his youth and technically still was. He would "procure certain coveted items" as well for high trades or high prices. He could not condemn this boy for that. Still, something he always stayed away from was the Skooma cartel illegally littering the streets of all piss poor towns like Riften. He was rather surprised this cartel made it to Whiterun and more importantly to a boy so young. He knew if guards caught anyone with Skooma from any land or province, one would be arrested on the spot. He knew that no one sold or traded with Skooma dealers. Only the slums of Riften and the rat den there were agreeably pleasant with Skooma dealers, but that was Riften of course. Land of thieves and desolates, his home tome.

Still, he desperately wanted to forget, even if for a little bit, Lydia's death. He was weak to temptation at the moment.

"As I said: it be a coveted item."

"I will not trade my bow."

"Ye got anything else ah want?"

"I possess… dragon bones."

The boy's eyes widened in disbelief. "Ye a dragon slayer?"

"I happen to retire from The Thieves' Guild." Kyle admitted, so that he wouldn't have to confess that he was the Dovakhin.

"Ah. Makes more sense." The boy said, his alarm waning. "Now, for such a generous trade, ah will give ye a healthy supply of Skooma, and company while takin' it. Skooma's best with company, ya know."

Kyle sighed, staring sadly at the funeral finishing from afar. "Very well."

o-o-o-o-o

"Ye ever had Skooma, elf?"

"Not yet." Kyle spoke sullenly.

"Not to worry. You'd be feelin' better in a few more than if ye took any amount o' Nord mead or ale."

They were outside the inner vicinity of Whiterun and just in the outskirts near the horse stables and farmers. They hid under a makeshift hallway of the tower.

"What be yer name, thief."

"Kyle of Riften. You?"

"Kenny. Born 'n raised in Whiterun." Kenny sat on an improvised bed with a wooden stool at the side and gold box filled with coins and stolen jewels. "Thought ye be hailing from Valenwood, bein' a wood elf."

"My parents… they immigrated to Skyrim before I was born."

Kenny was preparing the Skooma, handing the drink to Kyle. "Now, if ye don't mind me askin', that lass back there was ye wife?"

"I hear this is bitter." Kyle said monotonously.

Kenny sighed. "Yeah, bitter as shat from livestock. Nasty down ye throat too, but the piss ye be drinkin' clouds yer brain 'n heart with pleasant thoughts. Pleasant lies in effect, not taste."

Kyle reluctantly took a sip, and although he can take strong alcoholic drinks, the experience related to what Kenny had previously described, and despite him not personally knowing the feeling of eating shat from livestock, he could relate to the concept well enough after just one sip.

"Ugh. It be coarse." Kyle said sucking his face in.

"Coarse it be, elf." Kenny said as he took a good gulp and kicked the ground as he swallowed. "Ye know, ah had a couple of lasses tucked under me pants, if ya know what ah mean."

Kyle gave Kenny a look, as if telling him to cease his talk to appease his irritation.

Kenny seemed to ignore it and continued on. "I met this beauty, though. Hair long and golden like marigold. Eyes were light 'n blue, like the glow of snow, and 'er lips were full 'n plump. Beauty was she." Kenny swigged another gulp and kicked the ground to lull the bitterness. "Like a sun goddess, 'er marigold hair kindled like the start or end of fire. 'Er voice bared seductive qualities, ya know." Suddenly, Kenny's laugh mirrored one of a perverted old man. "Guttural yet lyrical, 'n the look she gave me when she wanted me. Enough to melt yer knees."

"She left you?" Kyle asked, still waiting for the Skooma to take effect.

"'Er father married her off. Noticed a street rat was toyin' with 'er and sent 'er to damn Morthal. She wanted to 'xplore the land… now she's stuck in damn Morthal."

"If you want her, you go to her!" Kyle laughed. The Skooma was definitely working.

"She's married." Kenny repeated as if Kyle wasn't listening.

"Steal some horse, kill her husbuund, and take herr across the land. Do you know yer way arowund a sword? 'N arrow? Magic? Anytheeng?"

Kenny had the look as if something ingenious finally dawned on him. "Ah didn't think o' that." He looked at Kyle, who was way past sober. "Ah don't know how to fight. Can throw a few punches, but can't fight wolves or mages. Long way till Morthal and a plethora of wolves and mages reign the lands."

"Lucky fer ya, I know mah way around magic and the bow." Kyle collapsed against the wall, seriously disoriented. "My heart… she knew her way 'round a sword." He suddenly felt sad again.

"Will ya teach me?" Kenny asked eagerly, hoping he could probably get an agreement out of Kyle so that when he was again sober, he wouldn't deny him access to lessons.

"Well, why not? I procure knowledge uh… wait… oh, yeah! I procure limited knowledge 'bout swords. More 'bout magic and – _hiccup_ – arrows."

"Lead on, good elf." Kenny toasted to the air as Kyle slipped into the lethargic state of Skooma, drifting off to sleep. Kenny chuckled to himself. "Weedy drinker, elf."

Kenny took another chug at his Skooma. "'Bout time me luck stroke."

O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O

_**A/N:**_** Why is Kenny Irish? What the hell? I wanted to make him sound poor, but he ends up sounding poor AND Irish. Whatever. **

**I kind of made Skooma like an illegal drug or something. Like in Skyrim, its true about dealers not dealing with you because you have Skooma or running into shady forest sellers who sell Skooma and attack you if you ask "Isn't that illegal?" So I decided to make it into a hardcore drug. You have leaf Skooma, but liquid Skooma is dominant in Skyrim. **

**By the way, I just wanted to kill Lydia while giving Kyle a tragic love interest, I mean, who DOESN'T want to kill Lydia at some point in the game. Like you seriously can't sneak up on people with her around, and she always alerts your victims, and UGH. Stop standing in the middle of the fucking door, for Christ's sake! Let me fucking through! **

**So, Kyle's a Wood Elf. Kenny's a Nord. Bebe… that was the marigold girl, yep. Nord too. Oh, and um, ignore the awkwardness of the names from South Park characters. It's obviously not going to fit in with the world of Skyrim. If you don't understand a phrase or word (because of Medieval speak and all), **_**you have an internet right in front of you**_**. I'm too lazy to translate them. **

**Also, this is why you should save the game before entering battle. If your servant/husband/wife/whatever or you die, you can always go back to the last saving point. Kyle obviously didn't know that.**

**Get with the program, Kyle, jeesh. **


	2. The Sun Sets on Adventure

Chapter 2: The Sun Sets on Adventure

_Careful_. He thought to himself as he meticulously rubbed his oil on his Orcish armor and shield. The cloth was soaked with his oil and created a small puddle in the creases of the armor. He had killed an Orc one full moon ago and had taken the Orc's armor and war axe. He always had an interest in both Nordic and Orcish armor and weaponry, but he never had the chance to procure an Orchish war axe or armor before. The damn fool practically asked to be killed. He was trudging on his horse through the mountains when he ran into an Orc, positioned bluntly on the road, a pool of blood and bodies surrounding the rock where he sat.

_The Orc only slightly turned, not even glancing at him. _

"_Your _project _renders me uneasy." He motioned his head at the pool of blood and bodies. "Do you plan to include me, Orc?"_

"_Only if you are not worthy. If you are not here to grant me a good death, then you can leave."_

"_Why do you wish to die?"_

"_My time has come. I am old. Too old to become chief. It would be wrong for me to take wives at this age. So I will die. Malacath has given me a vision of a glorious death. I am to wait here until it finds me. As you can see, it has not yet arrived."_

"_You don't look that old to me. Certainly you are a strong, capable warrior."_

"_Indeed. One should find his death while he can still call himself a proper man. We Orc men are not like you Nords or like these Imperials who carry on until they are grey and feeble and their hair falls out. To cling to something past its usefulness is unseemly, how much more so when that thing is you?"_

"'_A good death', you say? I assume fighting is at hand?"_

"_Yes. Were I to simply lay down and die, it would not please Malacath."_

"_Perhaps I could give you the death you seek. I desire your armor and weaponry."_

"_Perhaps. As you can see, others have dared to try. You may have my things once I am dead, they will be of no use to me." The Orc finally took a look at him on top of the horse. "Are you sure about this?"_

_He rolled his eyes impatiently. "Yes, I am sure. I will give you a good death."_

"_Hmm. We shall see."_

_He mounted off his horse and tied to from a distance to a thick tree. He unsheathed his two handed blade and his steel gauntlets._

"_Are you using that shield, Orc?"_

"_No. I fight with this one axe. The shield is for the weather."_

"_My name is Eric Cartman. What be yours, Orc?"_

"_It is of no importance. If I am dead by the end of this, I shall not need a name."_

_Eric shot the Orc a wicked grin, his eyes wild with blood thirst. "Very well."_

_The Orc smirked back. "I see you have the eyes of a killer."_

"_Oh, but of course."_

He set his armor on top of the rocks of the field, admiring his work as the armor was coated with a good coating of rust.

He heard a twig snap behind him and Eric drew his blade, but loosened his grip when a maiden fell to his feet.

She looked up at Eric and panic held her eyes. She seemed to be running from something when she fell to his feet because he heard footsteps from afar.

"What are you doing with that axe?" She breathed fearfully.

"What are you doing running from those men?" He asked, almost cockily.

"They say I am a witch." She admits.

"Are you?"

"Of course not!" She sneers.

"Plucky, are we?"

She glared at him until the sound of the footsteps treaded closer and closer. She looked at Eric with pleading eyes. "If you have a noble heart in you, Goodman, you will help me."

"Commanding me? I see now why they call you a witch. The demon of arrogance and pride possesses thee."

"A burly looking thing like you, you'd seize them with ease, Goodman."

"Flattery will not blind me, witch." He chuckled.

The men found the girl and Eric from afar. "FOR THE DIVINES, MEN!" Their leader screamed as they charged at her.

"You will reimburse me for this, witch." He nodded at her as he gripped his war axe tighter and took hold of his shield. He had not time to put on his armor, but it needn't matter, he was skilled in the art of brutality.

He hacked at the men, one by one. There were only about eight of them. Yes, only. He enjoyed grimy battles of sheer strength and might, but when one of the men had turned out to be a mage… well, that's were the shield comes in handy. Those gifted with the art of magic and witches were two different things, mind you.

When he finally decapitated the scrawny little mage, he searched the pockets of the corpse for ale and gold, perhaps even some upmarket leather or steel. Nothing but a couple of coins and a bottle of ale. _Pansies_. He thought as he trudged towards the girl. He was splattered in the blood of her people, but she did not seem to fear him anymore, now that he did not give off the impression that he was out to get her.

"I am grateful, Goodman." She curtsied.

He plopped his axe and shield to the ground and sat on a boulder to refasten his boots. He glanced up at her to finally take in her form.

She was a feline-eyed splendor with dark sable hair weaved in a French braid. Her pale skin glistened in the reflection of the sunlight and her thin, almost reddish lips were in an impish smile. She had delicate fingers twisting the ends of her braids and a dainty and upturned, stubborn nose. She had a bore a regal appearance with a body that made men look twice.

He knew from the start that she was dangerous as her whole demeanor echoed a wicked and playful mien.

"Very well, then. Off with you." His hand motioned for her to leave.

She pouted, like a princess not receiving her every whim. She was obviously spoiled and he wanted nothing to do with such a dangerous and spiteful girl.

"I did not receive your name, Goodman."

He glared at her, realizing she wasn't going to leave. "Eric."

"I am Wendy Testaburger."

"Good for you." He snorted finishing with fastening his boots.

"I feel indebted to you, Eric. How may I be of service?"

"You're not going away, are you?" He sighed.

"Well, of course not. You said I must reimburse you, so I will."

He picked up a cloth and started to wipe the blood from his temples and neck.

"Do you need help with that, Eric?"

"No, I'm perfectly fine. Do away with you, witch."

"That was unbecoming."

"_I_ am unbecoming."

"Surely you can't believe that."

"I'll _believe_ anything to be rid of you."

"But you have saved me."

"And regretting it I am."

"Oh, come now. Don't you warriors have a cottage out in the woods somewhere to go home to after a long day of adventuring? I could keep the lodge for you, give it a feminine touch?"

"No. Be gone, witch."

"Oh please, Eric. I have nowhere to go home to. They already believe me to be a witch and now that the strong men from my village are gone, I cannot return now."

"_Those_ were strong men?"

She nodded.

He sighed. She may be dangerous, but it was nothing he could handle.

"Very well. I reside to the east. It be a day's journey."

"The day is ending, my lord. Shall we camp out here?"

"My lord? I like the sound of that." He muttered, smirking.

"I thought you might." She smiled mischievously and strode towards him, sitting next to him.

"I'll offer you food and a clean house for protection, my lord."

"Seems well and fair."

She glanced over at his armor, placed on a rock.

"I see you are secretly an Orc. Your brutish demeanor certainly exhibits one." she joked.

"Killed one last full moon."

"Do you kill often?"

"Critters for skin and hunt, yes. I only kill a passerby if they concede to a fight. I miss the air of blood and flesh, the carnal ways of war. I went to war young and have since been enchanted with brute strength, skill of blades, and mostly the challenge of a new kill. What I despise about war and battlefield are mages and nimble-bodied men from far ranges who rely on agility and trickeries. Men like that are not fit for war. To fight you must attack head on, bluntly and unafraid, or else you are a coward." He looked over to see her engrossed in his talk. "You don't seem to be afraid."

"On the contrary, you are valuable armor to me." She answered.

"You are free now, why do you need the protection?"

"Jarl's men will be after me. They say I enticed the Jarl's son."

"Did you?"

"Well, mere trifles here and there. I did not lay with him. He tried to corner me but as I escaped he called me a tease and told his father I was a witch."

"You seem impish enough to confuse a boy."

"Really?" She seemed pleased by this. "Do I confuse you?"

"I am not a boy. I harbor no feelings towards dangerous maidens."

She pouted. "Oh, I see. Big, burly man can fight the desires of his flesh. We'll see."

He scoffed at this as he started to build a fire, wood and deer already collected.

"Do you know how to prepare raw deer?" He asked.

"Of course."

"See to it, then. I will scour my sheets and prepare you a bed."

"Can't I sleep with you?"

"Impish witch." He scoffed.

"I like that term of endearment. 'Impish', I mean." She said as she sat on her knees to roast the deer.

"It is a slur, witch."

"Slur or not, I find it agreeable."

"Leave me to my peace, woman."

She pouted. "Alright."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"My lord, I grow weary." Wendy whined after five hours of silent walking. It was the next day and she slept uncomfortably last night, the sheets thin and the air cold. She tried to start a fire but Eric awoke and put it out. _"It alerts wolves"_ he said.

"Cease your mewling, witch."

"I prefer imp. Perhaps a pixy."

"Any urchin-like creature will do you just fine."

"My hands grow ice cold, my lord." That she wasn't lying about.

"Don't you harbor pockets in that dress?"

"No, my lord."

"I do not carry a cloak, witch. Make warm on your own time."

"Perhaps if I hold your hand, my lord." She smiled wickedly.

"Do you take me for an artless fool, witch?"

"No, but for a kind and noble Goodman, my lord."

He laughed at this. "Perhaps you're the artless fool."

"You did save me yesternight."

"I fought well, yesternight."

"Well… you do allow me to make myself comfortable in your lodge."

"Well cooked food is a treat I hold in high regards." She peered down to his stomach and took his word for it. "Judging from yesternight's deer, I suspect you to be a good housekeeper."

"Is that all I am to you?" She cooed puckishly, feigning hurt.

"Honestly… no."

A wicked smile grew on Wendy's lips. "Pray tell, my lord."

"You are much, _much_ less. Servant is more like it."

"Oh! Well, I never!" She scowled in fury. "Witch is one thing, but… ugh!"

Eric chuckled.

"To dare play with the heart of a maiden."

"Even if you are a maiden, there doesn't seem to be a heart to play with. I know women of your kind."

"Oh, and the _brute_ develops layers. What was it, now? A woman tore you down, hasn't she?"

"Please, give me more prestige." He said scoffing. "My mother was a common whore. I know your kind all too well. You _may_ not be a whore, but impish is one step below. In truth, a whore would be far more pleasant. At least a whore is direct and honest in what she is, but you seem to take great joy in _attempting_ to play with the hearts of men through trickeries and deceit."

"Even if you are a man able to succumb to the desires of flesh, there doesn't seem to be a heart to play with. I know men of your kind, though."

"Plucky. You're absolutely plucky." He sighed, helping her over a small stream of rocks and running water. "Pray tell, witch. What kind of man am I?"

"A brute. You are slow and dumb and although you're _puny_ heart has no depth to withstand love, I could trick you easily with desire."

"You can, can you?" He was more amused than offended. She was all talk, and she proved that with each annoying chatter she made.

"But I won't. My trickeries do not seem affective, so I will do away with my lies and present to you the truth. I'll win you over with the truth."

"Why am I to be won over? Am I another trophy in your book, like the Jarl's son? A little tittering here and trifles there, batting your long lashes; you will tease me and use temptation, but never being fully invested. If you are going to do something, you should at least finish it." He was growing bored of this. He wanted to lie on his bed at his cottage and be rid of this chattering girl. "Why bother?"

She sighed, seeming to grow bored as well. "Honestly, I don't know what I will do, if I will do anything at all. Honestly, I'm simply bored. There is nothing interesting to do at the moment so I will just play with you."

"Ah, so that's how it goes."

"Uh-huh."

"Very well, then may I have my peace back?"

"I sanction it, my lord."

"Finally." He muttered to himself.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It had been many full moons since then, almost half a year.

Eric trudged in the door of the cottage and plunged his armor and weaponry near the entrance as he surrendered to his fireplace, which was already brewing with flames.

"Good evening, my lord." Wendy said as she walked inside the room, midway of finishing her French braid.

"My peace, woman!" He spouted in irritation.

"Your peace it is, my lord." She smirked as she pressed her thumbs against his brooding back, gripping on his shoulders.

"Off of me, witch! What do you think you are doing?"

"It be a massage, my lord," She mocked him, as if he had little intelligence. "To soothe your troubles."

He groaned in irritation, just wanting to be rid of her already. "Very well, then."

"I am grateful, my lord." She smirked triumphantly.

She began to press circles in his back with her thumbs, searching for the region that troubled him. Once the tension was found, she applied a harsh press with her elbow, and Eric let out a groan of both pain and pleasure.

"I found your troubles, my lord." She cooed. "I would massage my brothers, you know, back at my village. They worked on the farm all day after my father passed away. Their backs were knotted with grief from the harsh labor, but after this they were free from their hardships."

"How many brothers did you have?" Eric said as he sat on the stool.

"Three older brothers. No sisters."

"Ah. Rings logic. Spoiled youngest child, coddled and protected by her brothers all of her life."

"And you, my lord." She asked, growing irritated and showing it through her massage.

"Ow! Be careful, witch." He whined. "I have a half-brother. Older. I have only had the displeasure of seeing him twice in my life. Both times he tried to dominate and oppress me."

"Did he, my lord."

"The second time, I do admit, he took me by surprise. The first, however, I was surely tricked, but not without… _revenge_ of course." He chuckled darkly.

"You're daunting, my lord." She said in an apathetic voice.

"Good. One day I'll be finally rid of you, then." He said more bitterly than he had intended.

"Do you really mean that?" She said, suddenly in a more quiet voice than he had expected. Her massage has stopped and her arm lingered on his back. He turned to see her, but what he saw was a vulnerable girl, not at all the impish pixy he had always dealt with. "Do I really disgust you so?"

He was taken aback by the sudden helplessness her eyes seemed to have exposed. A small fragment of him melted inside. He quickly brushed it off.

"You're a fool, Wendy. Don't take what I say to heart."

"You remembered my name." He saw a small and brief smile form in her lips as she was looking down.

"What makes you say that?" He asked, his heart suddenly beating quicker.

"You had always called me 'witch' or 'woman'. I thought you had forgotten my name."

"You always call me 'my lord', but I do not create such delusions." He cursed himself for using harsh words whenever he spoke to her.

"I do call you by your name at times… Eric." She was slightly blushing, but he couldn't surely tell because the glow of the fireplace illuminated her skin so that he grew distracted by its radiance.

"Well, I remember your name. It's Wendy Testaburger."

A long and discomfited silenced loomed over them, only to be replaced by the sparks of the fireplace.

"Does your back feel better?" She asked, her eyes averting his.

He cleared his throat ungainly and nodded. "Yes, yes. Fine. The tension is at ease." He stood from his stool and traveled to his bed. "That is all for today. I will retire to my room."

"You don't want dinner, my lord?" She asked with an air of expected loneliness.

"You needn't worry about me, girl. I ate in a tavern in the outskirts of a small town south of the passing river."

"Yes, I heard about it. The town is Whiterun, yes?"

"Yes."

"I always wanted to see Whiterun. I heard such interesting stories from there."

She sighed when he said nothing. "I think I will retire as well, my lord." She said sadly as she strode down to her room, which had used to be the guest room.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Later on that night a strange and clanking noise awoke the brute from his slumber. He reached for his large Battle axe and slowly, but stealthy-like opened his room. He noticed the clanking had not come from the main room, but from Wendy's room.

He abruptly opened the door almost mildly irritated, waiting to find her awake and making noise or worst-case scenario planning to run away. Unfortunately, it was much worse. There was a boy struggling to maintain her on the bed, her mouth silenced by strong cloth tied around her as she struggled and kicked at the boy. There were tears down her cheek as they both stopped struggling and she looked at Eric with pleading eyes. The boy gaped in fear.

"Oh… would you look at that. I'm in the wrong house…" The boy excused himself cowardly before trying to scurry off to the opened window.

Enraged and infuriated, Eric gripped at the boy's back collar and rammed his head to the edge of the bed. The boy fainted immediately by the blow to his skull. Not dead, but not alive for long now that Eric was enraged.

Eric swung his large Battle axe above and was staggered when Wendy clutched onto his chest, trying to force him to stop. Her screams and protests were muffled under the strong wool cloth tied around her mouth and he now noticed her hands were tied as well. He threw his Battle axe to the ground and grabbed her by the wrist, twisting it when she cried out in pain. He pulled her to his room and threw her to his bed. He lit a candle and ripped the cloth around her mouth and the rope around her wrists in one fell swoop.

"Tell me why I shouldn't decapitate that pathetic piece of worm dung RIGHT THIS INSTANCE." He roared.

She was crying almost uncontrollably by now, mostly from fear of what almost happened to her and from fear at what Eric could have done to the boy.

"He's the son of a soldier." She wheezed through her sobs. "They'll be out for our heads, Eric."

He took her by the shoulders and rammed her back to the wall. "Let me guess, a few trifles here and there, tempting him were you."

"Why do you care!?" She shrieked at him. "You never cared for me anyways, you brute!"

His eyes widened at the realization that she was in fact flirting around. He had seen traces here and there, whenever she glanced at the boy in town in front of Eric. "You whore!" He yelled. "You _were_ tempting him!"

"Don't call me that!" She sobbed, trying to struggle from his grip.

"Fine! You heartless woman!" He threw her to the floor, the hurt he felt only dawning on him now. "Be gone with you, you _loose_ woman."

"I didn't think he would try to take me!" She sobbed. "I didn't think he would advance at me and try to _rape_ me in my own bed!"

"You don't think, do you?!" He growled. "Not all men out there are as foolish as me. You don't think any of your temptations could have rebounded, could you!? I knew you eyed him too. You did it _RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME_."

"To make you… it was to make you…"

"What? What did it have to do with me, witch? I'm just a brute to you, _witch._"

"It was…" She sobbed. "To make you jealous."

Something gripped at his heart at that moment and ceased all the anger within him.

"What?"

"At first it was simple teasing. I was bored out of my mind. This house was lonely and barren and you were barely ever here." She explained, still sobbing and not daring to look up at him from the floor. "You were just a toy."

His anger began to boil again.

"But… after some moons following my arrival I began to…"

"What? Trifle with that soldier brat?"

"Form _feelings _for you." She said sternly, the lump in her throat apparent from her voice.

He was right when he thought her to be a dangerous woman. He thought he could handle her, but he had now realized that she stole his heart long ago, but it was okay now… now that he realized he stole hers as well. He couldn't see her face, though. Her hair concealed it.

"But you never cared, you always saw me with disgust and annoyance, haven't you?" She began to wipe her tears and lift herself from the ground. "It matters not, I'm leaving. You'll finally be rid of me. Congratulations."

A wave of fear crashed him, not wanting to let her go as he clutched her hand and pulled her into an embrace.

"Unhand me, you brute!" She shrieked, obviously hurt from the accusations of her being a whore.

He didn't answer her and he simply pinned her to his bed, and pressed his lips to hers passionately. At first she was tense, stiff as a board, but she melted under him and slowly came to reciprocate his kiss. He had waited so long for this.

When his separated from hers he brought it to her neck to kiss it gently. "Stupid girl." He muttered under his breathe. "Cease your trickeries and just come to me already. Come to me and be mine."

She moaned slightly from the kiss to her neck, but mostly from his words. That, by itself, drove Eric insane as his desire to ravish her grew and grew.

Their lips met again, this time pouring out their suppressed feelings for each other into one passionate and almost carnal kiss. Moaning into each other's mouth, one hand made way to her cheeks as he gently cupped it, while the other hand desperately tugged at the strings of her night gown. Her hands were entangled in his hair, her legs around him and her smell tantalizing him. _Divines, as long as it tantalized only me._ He thought.

"Eric, wait!" She moaned loudly as his hot tongue traveled down her cleavage. "The boy, the boy! What shall we do with the boy?"

He moved his tongue from her cleavage to bite at her earlobe. "Kill him. We kill him."

"Tempting," she moaned, that word a double meaning to her, "but he _is_ a soldier's brat."

"We fling him to his kind. To the dung in the farms." He said, trying to brush off the boy from his mind and focus on her sweet and soft flesh, soft and warm and comforting, a woman through and through.

"Hmm, but if he wakes." She reasoned, trying to restrain the fleshy cloud threatening to overpower reason from her mind.

He presses his thumb against the center of her breasts and she grips to his hair, throwing her head back in pleasure. She almost grunted as he nipped at her neck before whispering in a husky and guttural voice, "Stay where you are."

He rose from her and the bed and he went to tend to a pathetic worm in the next room. He glanced her way before he left and he saw her biting her arm slightly to soothe her wild passion. She was wild with sexual desire so quickly and intensely and she didn't know if it was because of her lack of actual experience or how she felt about him.

After threatening the boy to the point of knowing his bowel systems will never properly function again, with the addition of tossing him in the shat of livestock, he made his way eagerly back to his cottage to consummate their love. They did. They were thrown into the light of passion as they clutched at the sheets and gripped at each other's every waken skin. Morning came and he was presented by the angelic glow of the sunlight reflecting from her skin. She kissed him awake, cooing him out of his slumber. He knew then that he loved her more than he could ever bear.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They were both young and in love and for a while it had been like that, fun and passionate. They married at one point and removed her from the guest room as she moved into his and shared his bed and his arms that always embraced her at cold, winter nights. He would come home from hunts and adventures, sometimes taking her along with on the less dangerous paths. She went back to her impish self, but she _only_ teased Eric, and this time she meant every word and phrase.

It wasn't until one evening when he came home from the market in Whiterun with new oil to help the bluing of his armor and a jaded jewelry box for his beloved.

He entered his cottage the items hung over his chest. She came running to him, embracing him and kissing gingerly.

"If I had known you grow so lonely, imp, I would have brought you along with me."

"There's no need to grow alone anymore, we have a new mouth to feed, Eric." She giggled.

"Hmmm?" He said, still and cloud nine from her kisses until he actually listened to what she had just said. "Wait, what?"

"I had been feeling ill this past month and I needn't worry you, so I sought my friend, Rebecca, from the outskirts of town who happens to deal with this sort of issue." Her smile widened immensely. "My suspicions were right. I am with child."

Eric's heart stopped cold. His entire being was sincerely ecstatic, but also drenched with fear.

"I am to be a father?"

She cupped his face and brought it to hers as she kissed him dearly. "Yes. And I am to be a mother."

"I… I don't… I don't know whether to kiss you or scream." He admitted.

"Kiss me, you brute." She laughed and he did.

Everything was fine… until…

Eric was just outside the cottage when it had happened, skinning a fox from its fur until he heard a scream. He dropped the fox and scurried into the house fearful and ready to attack (traumatized from the night they both confessed to each other). He heard a heard thump resonate from their room and he opened the room to see a pool of blood around her feet, her struggling to arise from the ground where she had fallen. She was in bouts of sweat and was trembling with fear.

He ran to her side and placed a feathered pillow below her head. "What happened!?" He croaked.

"Divines…" She whimpered. "There's so much blood. Why is there so much blood?" Tears streamed down her eyes, knowing exactly what it all meant. He knew it too.

Her womb was barren.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It had been three years since they had been married and now Wendy lay in a darkened room. It was high noon and the curtains and door were shut, her frame against the bed.

The door slowly and gently creaked open and Eric cautiously entered the room. "My imp… there is a festival in town today, would you like to attend?"

No answer.

He sighed, heartbroken. "It has been a month, Wendy."

"Four." She croaked from her bed, her voice raspy with grief and the feathered pillows over her head. "This was the fourth time my womb has been left barren."

Yes, she had been with child four times and had watched it die in her womb for times again.

"We never… we never pass the twenty fourth week. We never pass the sixth full moon."

He had nothing to say. There was absolutely nothing he could say. He was left heart broken, and as much as this affected him and broke him into pieces, he… he couldn't imagine the pain it had caused her, to lose child after child.

All he can do is approach the bed and lie there with her, embracing her and hearing her sobs begin to form, the heaving of her chest as she cries on him. All he can do is hold her tighter and tighter, never wanting to let her go. The house is darker and it has become more sullen. Her food has lost its taste and it is now bland and stripped of comfort. Her eyes are void as she strolls from room to room, not knowing what to do. They had picked names for the children many times over and had bought things for the children. The dead children.

So it was no celebration when she came with child again when winter came along. The sky had been dark with snow and the green had been long gone. She stared at the window, not moving for hours, broken and waiting for death to knock at her door once again, to inform her that she will always be childless. Her womb was broken and barren. This has greatly taken a toll on their marriage. She has been distance and aloof, and he has grown more irritable and hostile.

At times, they barely talked for weeks on end, and her empty womb lay between them as they slept, like a child between them.

So when twenty six weeks had passed and the child within her was still growing, she began to clean again. Eric came from a long day of hunting and gathering cheese and ale from the market, everyday expecting to come home to the death of a child. Today, though… he hadn't. Today he came home to a clean house with stew brewing at the pot. Wendy entered from the backdoor, her hair twisted into that nostalgic French braid. She had been carrying corn and eggs from their food storage in the back.

"Good afternoon." She said to Eric as she placed the corn and eggs on the table.

"Afternoon." He nodded to her. "You have cleaned."

"Yes." She said walking towards Eric, motioning to take the cheese and ale.

"N-no. It be fine. I will carry it." He said. And he did.

"What have you caught today?" She asked.

"Two rabbits." He said. Today was a slow day, being that not even the pesky wolves came trudging his way. He ventured over to the North of Skyrim, not too far from the cottage. He didn't want to travel far in case…

"I see. I've started cooking already…" she said half smiling. "I did not want to start too late in the evening."

"Yes, that's fine."

The silence dawdled amongst them, only the clanking of pots and wood filled it.

Later that night as she lay on her side and for the first time in a long time, Eric's hand found its way around her and this time she did not shudder away. She sunk in his chest and gripped on his hand.

"I am so sorry." She whispered, tears spilling over her eyes.

Eric kissed her temple and tightened his grip on her. "As am I." He whispered back.

This hadn't changed the bitterness they had inflicted on each other over the past year. This hadn't removed their fear that the nightmare will only repeat itself like it has four times before. This made them stronger though.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Weeks passed by and it had already reached the thirty sixth week.

Their house had life again. Their food was warm and littered with spice. They had light embellishing the corners of darkness in their cottage and Wendy even gathered up the courage to set out to Whiterun. They had no nursemaid. They gave up on the fourth try, but now it was different. Now the child was destined to be birth, or so did their parents think, at least.

Eric kissed her temple. "I am treading to the blacksmith, imp."

"I'll handle the market; just go on with your armor business." She giggled.

As Eric approached the blacksmith, he noticed another customer being attended. His hair was a fiery red and his body was lean and fit.

"You mean to tell me a blacksmith cannot tend to my problem?" The stranger said.

"I mean to tell you no blacksmith can. This is an enchanted _bow_. Now, if the _arrow_ were enchanted, I could tend to it through the iron tip."

"My mind cannot fathom this. I enchanted the _arrows._ The bow CANNOT be enchanted."

"Whatever you have done is not in my opinion to voice, but I can tell you what I see and I see an enchanted bow, but not an enchanted arrow."

"This is impossible unless…" The stranger stood there, lost in a daze until he rubbed his temples. "unless the bow has been cursed." He sighed. "May you redirect me to the local shop, I have not been in Whiterun for many months."

"Yes of course!" And the blacksmith gave the customer directions.

"Thank you, Goodman." The customer said as he began to walk out and towards the local shop. Eric rolled his eyes at the stranger. _Another nimble-bodied mage as a warrior._ He thought.

"Ah, Cartman." The blacksmith gave a hearty laugh. "How's the wife."

"Still bloated and awaiting for her water to break." Eric politely smiled, his annoyance returning. He hated the blacksmith as a person (nosy son of a bitch), but loved to buy his merchandise.

"I see, I see. I am glad to hear everything is in good health. I take it you are here for more oil?"

"Yes, and no. I am also here to procure a blade made of steel."

"Yes, I may have that for you…"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I have the wolf skin drying in the back, but I was pondering the need to…" Wendy was talking to Eric, her head on his lap, as they watched the fireplace, until something in her erupted. "Oompf." She grunted, holding her stomach. It had been thirty eight weeks now.

"Did he kick again?" Eric cooed as his hand tousled her hair.

"If so… we have a warrior to follow your legacy." She chuckled. "I should retire to bed anyhow. You know how Rebecca worries." Wendy smiled as she was referring to her nursemaid.

"Yes, sure." Eric said, reclining back on the leathered chair. He was drifting to sleep, watching the fire until he heard a thump.

He flinched at the memory of past experiences and he rushed over to their room.

He saw Wendy bending forward slightly in pain, her jewelry box on the floor next to a pool of water.

"The… the child is coming." She struggled to say as he stomach started to contract. Despite her pain, her face was twisted in a smile. She was laughing lightly, amazed that she had come this far.

"Come, I'll lay you in bed and I will go on to fetch Rebecca." He was on the verge of laughing and crying as he helped her on the bed, elevating her back. "She isn't but minutes away."

"Hurry." Wendy breathed.

He dashed out to find their nursemaid and when he brought the nursemaid to her, Wendy was still in labor, already fully dilated.

"Breathe, dear, we have come to aid you." Rebecca said, positioning Wendy to ready herself for the child's arrival. "Eric, I need a wide bucket of hot water, vinegar, and sugar. Mix the vinegar and sugar in a glass of water. Also rose oil. I expect those ready quickly."

Eric immediately set out to gather the items and bring it towards Rebecca. Wendy had consumed the vinegar and sugar water and Rebecca had rubbed the flanks of the expectant mother with rose oil.

Finally came the period where she had to push. There was a mixture of sweat, tears, and strengthened screaming.

"Oh, Divines. I cannot… Eric, I cannot…" Wendy pleaded gripping onto he sheets with all of her might.

Eric padded her forehead with a soaked cloth. "You have to, heart."

"No…" She whimpered before she began screaming as she pushed on as hard as she could. Her head fell back and she breathed heavy heaps of air.

"I see the head, Wendy. Push once more and the child will be through."

She shook her head, her hands clutching her hair, and she took a deeper breath before the final push.

One the child's cry echoed, they both smiled at each other and she laughed incredulously, thanking the Eight Divines for the child not being a stillborn.

Rebecca cut the umbilical cord with a dagger and handed the crying child to Eric. "It's a boy."

They both stared at the shriveled thing with joy and he handed the child to her. It was a beautiful child, with short blond tousled hair set atop of his perfect round head.

"His hair is fair." Eric laughed.

"My father's hair is fair, fair as the sun. The child has taken kindly to his blood." She smiled.

"Leopold…he shall be Leopold." Wendy beamed, liking the sound of that name. She stared at the child as if it were the light of heaven.

Their child was born. Three years of marriage and two years of trying. The Divines had finally answered their prayers.

A child was born.

Then something rendered her lightheaded and she handed the child to Eric. "I don't… I do not feel well."

"Dammit, dammit!" Rebecca wheezed in panic as she motioned to the cloth pressed against Wendy's forehead.

"What?" And before Eric could receive an answer, he saw it firsthand. Blood. Blood was surging forth from her womanhood. It ran Eric's own blood cold. He handed the cloth to Rebecca.

"Quick get water, we need her mouth moist." Eric didn't have a place to set the child and he quickly handed him to Wendy as he rushed to acquire a pitcher of water.

"Eric, quickly!"

Eric brought the water and Wendy gulped it down, handing the boy back to Eric. The blood was still gushing forward and there was nothing Eric or Rebecca could do. "Dear Divines, I see her entrails." Rebecca cried desperately trying to mend the hemorrhage.

"Oh Divines… no…"

Eric could see the dark creases form under Wendy's eyes and the color draining from her face and cheeks as time grew and Rebecca and Eric still scrambled to help Wendy. She grew fainter and fainter as even the strength to move her arms weighed heavy on her. Rebecca motioned to Eric. "Eric, fetch the…"

But something grasped at his hand and it was Wendy. The two knew the look in her eyes meant she knew there was no hope.

"Eric, I need to tell you something."

"No… no, no, no." He cried as he fell beside the bed and kissed her lips pleadingly. "The bleeding can still be stopped. Do not give me that look."

She simply shook her head and motioned for Rebecca to pass her the child, who had never ceased crying.

"His lungs are strong." She faintly laughed as she took the child and wrapped it around her arms and brought Eric's reluctant arms around her and the child. The child began to calm down, and Wendy brought her hands to Eric's cheek. Eric held her hand against his face and kissed it repeatedly.

"Do not do this, oh Divines, please. No…" Eric pressed his forehead against hers and she kissed his cheek and then lips, her touch and kisses already turning cold.

"I almost took my life after the fourth one had died in my womb." She admitted. Eric's stomach flipped at the thought of coming home to that. "Since the day I found I was first impregnated, I had wanted a child to hold and to love, but…" Tears began to form in her eyes but her smile stood unaltered. "You have to care for him, Eric."

"No, no. Not alone. No." He sniveled against her forehead.

Then she peered down at the child and weakly smiled, the blood still erupting out. Suddenly, she started to tremble and the shudders worsened into convulsions, Red took the child knowingly and prayed towards the Divines.

"No... you cannot do this to me…" He cried, tightly embracing his dying wife and she struggled to push him apart. When he did, she feebly reached for his lips and before he could even give her his lips, she escaped into the light.

She was gone, and he was left with the child.

The child who still was crying for its dead mother. The child who she wanted so badly. The child who will never know his mother's milk.

The child… who will never know his mother.

O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O

_**A/N: **_**Jesus Christ. The thing took a life of its own. When I started this chapter, I wanted Wendy to leave Cartman for Stan like a cruel woman or something. Like this suddenly turned into a heavy and sad story. This is still Kyman, yes, but I think I may have fallen in love with this new Eric and Wendy in Skyrim times dynamic. There might be some memories in later chapters. (Like I love this new "imp" shit I wrote, like I always wanted to write about a character that was siren-like with an mischievous impish twist.)**

**Whenever I say "full moon", I mean a month.**

**I also love Cartman's way to say "shut up": "My peace, woman!"**

**Obviously the child is Butters. Like… even I didn't expect that. It just happened, I wanted Butters to be Eric's follower when the real quest started, but as an annoying follower and no more, but I guess he ended up being the kid. So like, in later chapters, I'm thinking of making Butters eleven or ten. I'm thinking Kyle will be in his late twenties, like 28 or 29 and Eric was in his mid-20s when he married Wendy (she was seventeen when she met him and like twenty when she had Butters. Then ten years later, Eric is like in his mid-30s and that's when he meets Kyle in his late twenties. Okay. Yeah. I'm thinking of that. **

**Hope this didn't get you guys down, because it sure as hell got me down. To make matters worse, I was even thinking of killing the child as well. Like maybe Wendy's womanhood didn't dilate and the baby couldn't come out and they would both die (if that happens today, that's when a C-Section comes in). But I thought that would be too cruel, even for a sadistic person like me, who likes to kill characters and cause them misery (be prepared). So I decided to just kill her with a hemorrhage and be done with it. I heard that can happen though! Like in pregnancy I heard your intestines can protrude out! Holy shit!**


End file.
